


hold on to the afterglow

by sinfulchihuahua0602



Series: soft jonmartin [5]
Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Bathing/Washing, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, SO MUCH FLUFF, Wing Grooming, Wingfic, literally like ninety percent fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-13
Updated: 2021-01-13
Packaged: 2021-03-17 15:33:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,688
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28727394
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sinfulchihuahua0602/pseuds/sinfulchihuahua0602
Summary: “Jon?” Martin runs quickly over to him. “Fuck, Jon, what happened?”Jon’s voice is pained as he looks up at Martin. His shoulder is leaning against the wall, legs folded and laying sideways in a sort of ladylike position on the ground. His shirt is further down the alleyway, and Martin can see the trail of blood leading from the other end of the alleyway, where Jon must’ve come in. “Had to figure it out- something’s happened, I don’t know why, but- Martin, I- I-“The shapes shimmering at Jon’s back twitch, the lamplight falls on them, and Martin gives an involuntary sharp gasp as he sees the curves of them, the way they arc upwards and then down jaggedly.“Wings,” Martin breathes. “Jon, you have wings.”
Relationships: Martin Blackwood/Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist
Series: soft jonmartin [5]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2081499
Comments: 4
Kudos: 115





	hold on to the afterglow

“Jon? God, pick up, Jon!”

_Your call has been forwarded to voicemail-_

“For fuck’s sake-“

Martin hangs up the phone and drops his hand to his side, pacing frustratedly around the living room of their small house. They had been living in it for a year now, after the apocalypse, and then- Jon just disappeared. Martin had fallen asleep with him one night, and woken up without him the next morning. 

He hasn’t called the police yet because he knows Jon really wouldn’t like that, and he’d like to think that, being a sort of eldritch horror in a world of near-normal humans now, he can take care of himself, but it’s been around eight hours without any form of communication and Martin is seriously considering it. 

Actually, no, he’s decided. He’s going to call the police and he’s going to join them in their search, which will be more than Martin’s four hour long drive around the city. 

He brings his phone back up and turns it on, unlocking it. There’s the police department, there’s their number-

**_Jon 03:31 p.m._ **

_Martin, I’m not in danger._

Martin nearly drops his phone at the text from Jon that appears on his screen and makes his phone vibrate, but he hurriedly clicks on the notification in time for it to take him to the messaging app. 

**_03:31 p.m._ **

_Jon, are you okay? I’ve been calling you all day and went searching for you!_

Martin waits as Jon types. 

**_03:32 p.m._ **

_Define ‘okay.’_

**_03:32 p.m._ **

_Christ, Jon, what does that even mean? Tell me where you are, I’ll come get you._

**_03:32 p.m._ **

_Don’t come searching for me, Martin. I need to figure this out._

**_03:33 p.m._ **

_Jon, you know you can’t go in alone all the time, let me help you._

**_03:34 p.m._ **

_I just need to figure this out. Don’t call the police._

**_03:34 p.m._ **

_It would help if you told me what you needed to figure out, and why shouldn’t I call the police?_

**_03:36 p.m._ **

_Jon? Are you still there?_

**_03:38 p.m._ **

_Jon?_

“Fuck.” Martin drops his hand by his side again and sighs, running a hand through his short hair. 

Well, Jon… isn’t in danger, apparently. That only slightly decreases Martin’s worry, and combined with Jon’s warning, he reluctantly rules out calling the police. If Jon can text him, he must be at least somewhere safe. Maybe in pain, or something worse, but Martin needs to find him on his own. If it _is_ something Entity related, with what little influence they have over the world now, it’s best for the police not to get involved in that. 

Martin sighs again and picks up his car keys, taking his coat quickly down from the rack and going out the door. 

-0-0-0-

“If I was Jonathan ‘Self-loathing’ Sims,” Martin starts stressfully sarcastically, “where would I go…”

Martin has several theories by now, as he drives aimlessly down the London streets. 

Jon left abruptly in the morning. He’s not one for going to solve puzzles instantly - he’s definitely willing to wait until he wakes up, either bringing Martin with him or writing a note saying where he’s going, so Jon can’t be moving through London with any sort of purpose to find something. That can’t be what he’s figuring out. 

So it’s something with him specifically. Either Entity related or not, but Jon is going to a hiding spot rather than searching for a thing. Something’s happened to _him_ and he…

Decided that he wouldn’t let Martin see it before running off. 

“Comforting,” Martin says a bit stressfully to the wheel as he turns down a narrow side street. If he was Jon, he would’ve gone to the alleys under the bridge - they’re small, mostly uninhabited, very similar to a maze, and have many places to hide. They’re good for alone time, Martin has found. They’ve found each other in these alleyways, hiding from the world.

He parks the car quickly and gets out, walking a little hesitantly through to the maze. He’s only been here a few times, not enough to learn it, and obviously can’t Know the way through like Jon can. He’s pulled a little to the darkest corner, the least visited - a side effect of being attached to the Lonely - but he ignores it, focusing on the maze as a whole and not the alley to the right that seems to be chilly with creeping fog. 

He turns left instead, following whatever direction he feels like. Jon hasn’t shown any particular fondness for any spot in the maze, and even if he had, Martin wouldn’t know it, both where it is and how to get there. 

He does, however, know that Jon is in here. It’s a sort of feeling he has, that this feels like where he’d go. He hopes he’s here, anyway, that his feeling is right, otherwise Martin doesn’t know what he’ll do. Search some more, most likely. Maybe call the police. 

He walks for around ten minutes before he turns a corner and sees a shape on the ground, dimly illuminated by the orange light of the lamp hanging on the wall. It’s leaning against the wall, and it’s Jon, but- there’s something shimmering in the darkness, turning black and then a neon green, like a holographic card but a little glittery. Martin realizes that it’s _iridescent,_ the shimmery black-green color, and then he’s concerned for the trail of blood he can see running down Jon’s shirtless back. 

“Jon?” Martin runs quickly over to him. “Fuck, Jon, what happened?”

Jon’s voice is pained as he looks up at Martin. His shoulder is leaning against the wall, legs folded and laying sideways in a sort of ladylike position on the ground. His shirt is further down the alleyway, and Martin can see the trail of blood leading from the other end of the alleyway, where Jon must’ve come in. “Had to figure it out- something’s happened, I don’t know why, but- Martin, I- I-“

The shapes shimmering at Jon’s back twitch, the lamplight falls on them, and Martin gives an involuntary sharp gasp as he sees the curves of them, the way they arc upwards and then down jaggedly. 

“Wings,” Martin breathes. “Jon, you have _wings.”_

Jon sighs, sagging against the wall, and immediately wincing and squeezing his eyes shut. “Yes,” he bites out, opening his eyes again. “Wings. Painful ones. They appeared this-“ he stops, his entire body tensing for a long moment before he continues, letting out a breath, “-this morning, a-after I left. I felt them coming.”

Martin drops to a crouch, reaching out hesitantly and skimming his fingertips feather-light over the graceful curve upwards and over of the top edge of one of the wings. The feathers are soft, a deep violet-black that shimmer neon-green as Martin moves his head slightly. 

Jon gives a sharp gasp, the wing twitching under Martin’s hand. He pulls it back, glancing back at Jon. “Oh, I- did I hurt you? Sorry, I didn’t mean to-“

“No, no- it’s fine. They’re-“ Jon shifts and winces again, “-they hurt, but… you’re not making it worse.”

He hesitates. There’s something deeper hidden under those words, something Jon isn’t telling Martin, but he’s not going to press it. He has more important problems than that right now. 

“Well, how- can we get you home? Can you go home like this?” Martin looks at the wings, thinking of how Jon could fit in his car with them. 

Jon shifts again before gasping sharply. “Ah- y-yes, I suppose we- we could. I- it was a bad idea of me to come out here, anyway, I was just…”

“Afraid of me judging you,” Martin finishes for him, quietly. Jon’s eyes flick up to his, and then down. 

Martin looks down. “Well,” he starts quietly. “You should really know by now that I will still love you no matter what you become. It sort of comes with the package, anyway, since you’re already an avatar of an Entity of fear-“

“Yes, Martin,” Jon interrupts, a little annoyed and a little pained in one. “I know what I am. And-“ his wings twitch, “-apparently, what I’m becoming.”

Martin smiles a little and looks up. “And I know that I love you. So,” he holds out his hand, “shall we go?”

Jon puts his hand in Martin’s, but doesn’t let himself be pulled up. “I- I can’t stand up that well, it’s been affecting my balance and it really hurts when I move the wrong way-“

“Come on,” Martin encourages, tightening his grip and pulling. “I’ll catch you.”

Jon sighs, but he forces himself up. It’s more Martin doing the pulling, as Jon gasps and almost collapses to bring Martin down with him as soon as he tries standing, but Martin catches himself and pulls him up. Jon stumbles into Martin, giving another pained groan as Martin slips an arm around his waist and puts a hand on his shoulder, steadying him. 

Jon breathes for a few seconds, hard. Martin waits, eyes flickering to a trickle of blood that runs down Jon’s back and a few stray drips. He doesn’t know how this happened, or why, but he wants to take care of Jon during it. He thinks they look pretty, anyway, shimmering green like that in the low light, and he’s a bit excited to see Jon cleaned up with the wings. Jon’s always beautiful, but this… Martin thinks he might possibly love him even more. 

For now, though, Jon gives a slow nod, taking a step forward, and Martin goes with him, keeping pace with him and his arm around his waist. Jon limps more than walks, leaning most of his suddenly increased weight on Martin, but he still catches him easily. Jon wasn’t a heavy person to begin with, and the wings don’t make him a whole lot heavier. Martin supposes they’re light because they need to be able to fly, and he knows they’re probably made of bird bones, which are hollow to make it easier to fly. 

Jon stops only three turns out, inhaling sharply and not continuing. “Martin,” he bites out, obviously through pain, and Martin puts his hand back on his shoulder. 

“Breathe, Jon. Deep breath in, deep breath out. You weren’t very far in the maze, we’ll be out soon. And then we’ll drive home, and you’ll get a bath.”

Jon sighs quietly, forcing himself to relax. “Yeah,” he says. “Yes. I’m good.”

Martin frowns as he keeps walking. “Well, you’re really not, but that’s what I’m here for.” He smiles a little, turning to look at Jon. 

Jon’s eyes flick over to him, the corner of his lips tilting in a small smile. “Yeah, I- I’m not, but- thank you, Martin.”

Martin simply smiles, nods, and then they continue to Martin’s car. He parked it relatively near the alleyways, and there’s not many people that walk around here anyway, so it’s easy for them to get to his car without anyone seeing. Jon ends up laying facedown on the backseat, and Martin goes in front and starts driving. 

It’s a lot harder than it was coming here. 

Jon makes small noises at the bumps and imperfections of the London streets that rattle through the car, and every time Martin looks through the rearview mirror he sees Jon wincing or grimacing in pain. Martin tries to go as smoothly as possible, but he has to get there quickly as well, and he can’t exactly slow his car down very much in London. 

Jon groans quietly as the car stops in front of the house and Martin goes quickly around to the backseat, opening the door. 

“Come on, Jon, we have to go in,” he says, a bit urgently. He doesn’t want Jon in the car anymore than Jon wants to _be_ in the car, and he’s already planning a bath to clean Jon and his wings. He knows it’ll be better in the house than out here. 

“Martin,” Jon whispers, turning painfully onto his side and squeezing his eyes shut. “God, it _hurts_.”

“I know,” Martin replies, struggling to keep the high pitch of stress out of his voice. “I know, but we have to go inside. Please, Jon?”

Jon is quiet for a long moment, and then he nods. “Yeah.” 

He pushes himself up on his elbows, an involuntary noise escaping him as his back and shoulders take the increasing weight of the new wings, and Martin reaches out to hold his shoulders as he moves sideways out of the car, legs first. He ducks his head under the doorframe and stands quickly up, almost falling entirely against Martin as he does. 

“Okay,” Martin says mostly to himself as he catches Jon, sliding his arm around his waist. “Okay, are you okay?”

Jon breathes air out hard through his teeth, inhales again, and exhales several more times before he nods. “Yes. Let- let’s just go. The faster we get there, the less pain I’ll be in sooner.”

Martin frowns, but he follows Jon’s lead and leads him up the steps. He seems to be getting better, actually - they’re walking faster, and Jon isn’t leaning quite as much weight against him. He doesn’t walk on his own fully, ever, but either the pain is lessening or Jon is pushing himself past his limits. Martin hopes it’s not the latter. 

It takes around fifteen minutes for Martin to run the bathwater and then for him to come into the bedroom to find Jon sitting on the bed, almost entirely undressed except for a simple robe. He looks tired just from doing that alone, and by the pile of clothes directly against the edge of the bed, he hadn’t moved from either sitting on the bed or supporting himself on it the whole time. 

“Ready?” Martin asks, walking closer. Jon exhales and then nods, forcing himself up to stand and walking almost on his own to the bathroom. Martin hovers nearby, making sure he won’t fall. By now, the blood on Jon’s back has dried almost completely, and Martin can see the longest feathers trailing down Jon’s legs beneath the bathrobe, the violet-black shimmering a little in the light as they walk through the rooms, the edges of the feathers stopping inches from the floor. 

Martin stays near the doorway as Jon walks slowly to the tub and sheds the robe, stepping in and slowly sitting down. He winces as he moves to sit down, but when he sinks into the bathtub he practically _melts,_ giving a quiet sigh. He moves so the back of his head is against the rim and the curve of the bathtub means it’s not pressing against his wings, giving them space to be folded behind him. 

Martin gives a small smile. “Feel better now?”

Jon hums. “Yes.”

“Would you like me to leave you here, give you some privacy?”

Jon is quiet for a long moment, seemingly not going to answer, and then he speaks, quietly and almost a mumble. “No. Stay?”

“Yeah, Jon,” Martin answers immediately, moving forward into the room and sitting on the toilet. He wants to be here for Jon, doesn’t want to leave him to deal with this pain by himself. In most circumstances, Jon would make himself deal with the pain by himself, and it’s either a testament to the amount of pain he’s still in, or how much he’s comfortable with Martin, that he lets himself have Martin here. Martin hopes it’s the latter.

Jon’s quiet for a long few minutes. Martin sits and simply watches him, studying the peace on his face and the way his shoulders are loose in relaxation. They hadn’t had this in the apocalypse except for a few fleeting moments here and there - nights spent cuddled together, not because they were sleeping, but just because it was all too much and they needed to pretend they were normal, just for a little while. Those nights Martin drifted; it was difficult to in general, and it was even fewer and far between times that Martin got Jon comfortable enough to drift himself, for longer than a few minutes before the pressure of the Eye ‘woke him up,’ in a sense. They never had the time to relax, nor the necessity, and Martin is never going to not be grateful for the time they have now. 

“Thank you for looking for me,” Jon says suddenly, quietly into the silence, breaking Martin out of his reverie. 

Martin smiles and nods. “Yeah, of course I would. Why not?”

Jon’s fingertips skim over the water lightly, pressing and making small ripples without breaking the surface. He doesn’t look at Martin. “I- well.” He pauses. “I wasn’t sure.”

Martin frowns. “It’s like I said before, Jon. I’m still going to love you, no matter what you become.” He gives a quiet, wry laugh. “To be entirely honest, I expected that if you were to ever transform into some sort of… _eldritch horror,_ it would be a lot scarier than a pair of wings.”

Jon smiles, breathing out his own soft laugh. “Yeah,” he says. “Yeah, this is. Not as bad as it could’ve been, anyway.”

Martin stands up off of the toilet. “Well, that doesn’t mean they don’t hurt. Come on, we should get to bed. I’m tired and not all that hungry, what about you?”

Jon hums, leaning back. “No, not that hungry either.”

Martin starts walking to the door. “I’ll be in the bedroom, then.”

Jon gives a noncommittal hum in response, and by the time Martin closes the bathroom door he hears the sound of water splashing and a cloth being squeezed out. 

It takes ten minutes for Jon to walk out to the bedroom in his robe. He’s not stumbling quite as much, though he still pauses to lean against the doorframe, and doesn’t move quite as quickly. The robe is lumpy over his wings, raising and arching up and over at a weird angle for the fabric. Martin smiles when he comes out anyway, standing on the side of the bed, and watches Jon pause in the doorway, raising one eyebrow at the setup. 

“Martin?” he asks, glancing around. 

Martin smiles more, walking closer. “I just thought- well, we haven’t- uh…” He pauses, his smile fading, then looks up resolutely after a few long moments. 

“This reminded me of the apocalypse,” he says bluntly. “We couldn’t relax then, and you couldn’t especially. I- I want you to relax tonight. It’s something I’ve learned not to take for granted.”

Jon stares for a long moment, and then he glances back, past Martin. The adjustable light in the room is turned almost all the way down, and there’s two candles lit on the dresser and the nightstand. Martin took all the blankets and pillows they had and made a sort of nest in the middle of the bed, set in amber light by the candles and the low ceiling light. He tried to make it romantic, and really isn’t quite sure how well he succeeded. 

Jon looks back at Martin, and the corner of his lips tilt in a soft smile, warmth entering his eyes. He reaches out, slipping an arm around Martin’s waist and pulling him close, swallowing his noise of surprise in a soft kiss. 

“Oh,” Martin gasps when he pulls away. He puts his hand on Jon’s arm around his waist, glancing down fleetingly at it. “This is- you’re-“

“Yes, Martin,” Jon interrupts, voice fond as ever at Martin’s concern, “this is okay. It’s you, after all,” he adds, smirking a little. 

Martin flushes a light red, and then he frowns and pulls out of Jon’s arms. “Hey, I’m the one with the romantic setup here! You can’t turn this all around on me!”

“Seems like I did,” Jon replies, still smirking - possibly even more. 

Martin dances out of his attempt to reach for him again and points mockingly sternly at him. “No. My romantic setup night, alright?” He points at the bed. “Bed. Now.”

Jon laughs quietly and nods. “Yes, Martin,” he says sarcastically, laughing harder when Martin swats his shoulder on his way past. 

He stops by the end of the bed, sobering a little as he turns to Martin. “So, what did you have planned?”

Martin pauses, hesitating. “Well, I- uh, thought maybe, possibly, I could… clean your wings? I- if it doesn’t hurt, obviously. I found some scented oils, sort of like a massage, I guess? Don’t really know how those work, but I can try?”

Jon smiles. “They don’t hurt very much, only an ache by now. And I’m sure you’ll figure it out.”

Jon’s moving to lay on the bed by now, and there was something in the way he said that- “Do you Know how massages work, Jon?”

Jon is quiet for a moment. “Hmm. Maybe.”

Martin climbs on the bed as Jon spreads his wings and he swats his leg. “Well, don’t compare me to the all-knowing expertise of whatever massage therapist whose brain you took that information out of.”

“Oh, no,” Jon starts, “you’re much better.”

Martin swats his leg again teasingly. “My romantic night, remember?”

Jon laughs quietly, laying facedown, and then shifts to get comfortable. “Yes, yes, I’ll be quiet now.”

Martin smirks. “Oh, but I thought you loved hearing your own voice. You’re the _Archivist,_ after all.”

“And I thought you had a romantic night to get to, _massaging_ said Archivist,” Jon fires back, still teasing and with the side of his face that Martin can see smirking. 

Martin opens his mouth in mock-offense. “I might just not do it now, if you’re being so demanding.”

Jon hums. “No, you set up everything too neatly, and I could always turn it back around on you if you _really_ don’t want to do it,” he adds, _still_ smirking. “I can be romantic too, you know.”

Martin reaches out and trails his fingers lightly along the soft feathers. “Nope, it’s my turn tonight, even _if_ the Archivist is being demanding.”

Jon smiles, but he doesn’t respond, letting the conversation flow to a natural stop. Martin’s smile fades as he focuses on Jon’s wings, trying to figure out how to go about this. 

He starts just by feeling them out. The candlelight flickers across the feathers, dancing in gold with the bright green shimmering through the deep violet-black. Martin studies the curves of the wings’ silhouette, arching up and over in a graceful arc at the top, feathers spreading in a gentle flare at the bottom. His fingers follow it, tracing feather-light, skimming over them. 

Jon gives a quiet sigh beneath him, sinking a little more into the mattress and nest of blankets. Martin smiles and moves on, tracing the edges of several feathers and studying the pattern of gold light across the green and black hues. 

“Mmm… Martin,” Jon hums, barely audible. He has his eyes closed, and he doesn’t open them when Martin pauses. “Di’nt know… th’s could feel so good,” he finishes, slowly and half-mumbled into the blankets. 

“Makes sense, you haven’t had wings before,” Martin replies neutrally, and sees the corner of Jon’s lips twitch in a smile. “Personally, Jon… I think they look beautiful. Especially on you.”

Jon’s eyes open and flick to Martin as his cheeks flush a faint red. “No,” he says, though Martin can tell by the look in his eyes that he knows Martin isn’t lying. He _can’t_ lie - Jon’s the Archivist. 

Martin rolls his eyes. “Oh, come on, why not? You have these now, might as well see the beauty in them. And it’s not really hard to, given what they are. I’m a _poet_ , Jon. I see the beauty in you, and I’ll see the beauty in these wings. It’s only more beautiful that they’re both together.”

Jon rolls his eyes theatrically and turns his face into the blankets. “ _Poets,”_ he grumbles. 

Martin starts tracing his fingers along the feathers again. “Mm, you love me.”

Jon sighs softly again, his whole body falling limp. “I do,” he breathes quietly, eyes slipping closed as Martin continues. 

He moves on after a few seconds of that, arching his hands a little and prying at the feathers. His fingers slip underneath and Martin tries scratching slightly. 

Jon gasps, back arching a little and his wings giving a small, frenzied flutter. “Oh…”

Martin smiles. “I suppose that means this feels good?”

Jon groans quietly as Martin does it again, wings twitching, and nods. “Yes,” he mumbles into the mattress. 

Martin continues, moving up and down the rows of feathers and burying his fingers beneath them, scratching lightly. Jon goes from soft gasps and groans to contented hums and sighs, his whole body going pliant beneath Martin. 

Martin makes it all the way through the feathers and lightly rubbing the scented oil on his wings before he gets to the center of his back, where his wings meet his spine, and starts rubbing at the hard knot of bone there and skin of his back where the wings emerge.

Jon makes a strange sort of breath beneath him, part something rumbly and part hum and part soft sigh. Martin lets his hands move idly and glances at Jon’s face. 

His eyes are closed, as always, but there’s a relaxed peace on his face and his breathing is even and deep. He’s still making that strange noise as Martin continues rubbing, but Martin realizes he’s asleep and completely limp beneath him. 

And… that’s a _purr._ That noise is a _purr -_ not exactly in the way cats do it, but a sort of breath-hum that has something rumbly woven with it, forming the noise Jon is making. Martin pauses his rubbing and the noise fades out into Jon’s even, relaxed breathing, and starts up again when Martin continues. 

Martin laughs quietly to himself and keeps going - who would’ve thought that the Archivist, of all people, could _purr._ And who would’ve thought he’d ever have the time to, serving an Entity of Fear - but they have time now, and Martin isn’t going to ever take that for granted. Nor is he going to take for granted shelter, being able to eat and drink and _sleep._ There’s a special sort of pride he takes in getting Jon to sleep like this, utterly trusting in his presence like Martin hasn’t seen him be with anyone, really. It’s a sacred thing, because Martin knows that Jon rarely would allow anyone near him, even touching him, especially not without his attention on their presence. 

Martin, apparently, is an exception to that, in which Jon is lying asleep and pliant underneath him, having put himself there and trusted Martin enough to let himself fall asleep. Martin doesn’t think he’ll ever get over that fact, of how much Jon trusts him. 

He continues for around ten minutes before pulling his hands away and moving from his position straddling Jon’s legs, carefully and quietly shifting to sit beside Jon. He stands up and blows out the candles, leaving the dim ceiling light on, and then looks at Jon’s wings spread across the bed, hanging off and almost touching the wall at either end. 

Martin smiles at Jon’s relaxation, then carefully climbs onto the bed, lifting Jon’s wing slowly and sliding underneath it, like a blanket. He expects it to fold up again, or bend away, but instead it falls gently back down on Martin even as he pulls the covers up over himself and slides in beside Jon, facing him. 

“Jon,” Martin whispers, and skims his fingers lightly over his cheek, “it’s me, Martin.”

Jon’s brows furrow, as if he could hear him in sleep, and then as Martin traces his fingers over his feathers, his face smooths into contentment again and he shifts closer to Martin, wrapping an arm around him. 

Martin smiles, letting Jon do so, and closes his eyes, falling asleep with one hand resting lightly on Jon’s wing. 

  
  



End file.
